


Down by the River

by mellyb6



Series: Royal Ever After [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Picnic in the countryside, Post S3, Royals can take holidays, So many babies, The queen has a cat, family times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10425948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: The Queen and the Dauphin are spending some time in the countryside. Aramis joins them. Post S3





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eliza19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza19/gifts), [learose80](https://archiveofourown.org/users/learose80/gifts).



When he came back from the war, Porthos found a stack of dusty papers in his old room. Among which was a letter informing him that Belgard had passed away and that he was to be the only one to inherit his fortune. Porthos couldn't have cared less about the large estate and the title because there was so much to be done in Paris at the time.

 

Then Elodie came along, enjoying a secure life in the capital city albeit scarcely seeing her husband and missing nature.

 

Over the course of their intensive correspondance while he was at the front, she coaxed him into rehabilitating the house. For them and for their little girl. For their second daughter who was born a year after they were married. For the many orphans the manor could certainly host. Another place for children to seek refuge in. Surrounded by forests.

 

So a plan was devised and Elodie has been enjoying her new home for a couple of months already. Hoping that soon Porthos would join them for far longer than a couple of weeks. Usually it was less. He's barely seen his daughter and she's nine months old. The war is over now after all. A breath of fresh air and new hope now that the country is at peace. That soldiers are being sent back to their families.

 

It's where Aramis is riding today. To pay Elodie and his goddaughters a visit but more importantly to see the Queen and her son. The short trip to the country was a birthday wish from the King. To be with his mother and to make new friends. To ride an actual horse in fields, away from Paris. He's eight now and he's too old for a poney. The Queen disagrees. Aramis doesn't, knowing in his heart that the boy can do it if he has a good teacher. It's in his blood and besides, d'Artagnan has been their personal escort.

 

No courtiers, no politics for the past two days. No First Minister since Aramis stayed behind at the Louvres. Handling the Queen's business yet missing her terribly. Usually it's the other way around: he's the one away on missions and she's the one waiting impatiently at the palace for his return. Two years by her side haven't quenched his joy and need to be close to her. They have so many lost years to make up for.

 

It's a beautiful spring day and Aramis cannot wait to arrive. It's a surprise and he doesn't want to be announced. He's infuriated by the two armed guards traveling with him. As if he couldn't protect himself. He isn't used to riding with people who don't talk to him. They don't make for very talkative companions. He misses being a simple Musketeer on a mission with his friends in moments like that.

 

There's mayhem at the estate, like there always is. Children buzzing, excited by visitors. A bit shy at first but Aramis has been coming often so they are growing used to him. To the bright laughter and the little presents.

 

The guards dispatched to help unload the supplies he's brought, Aramis wanders by himself to the large park at the back of the house. With the trees which could use some trimming. The bushes blooming timidly and next year it will be the most exquisite garden. Under the shadow of the large branches and the peaceful secluded area soothed by the gentle rhythm of the little stream. The best place for family gatherings.

 

It's no wonder Constance has accompanied her husband and the Queen. The chance to show her two little girls the charms of the countryside.

 

The grass is soft as Aramis walks towards the quiet conversation and the pleasing laughter. The displeased cries of babies and the meowing of the cat that he knows too well. The new feline occupant of the Queen's bed which is never quite happy when Aramis shoves it down whenever he visits at night. Lancelot's tail wraps around Aramis' legs as it comes to study the intruder and it purrs contently when Aramis strokes its back. He picks the cat up in his arms, carries it back to the table and the chairs where everyone seems to be making the best of the warm afternoon.

 

Even d'Artagnan who is holding one of the twins and clearly not doing the expected duty of watching out for potential assaillants. Constance has kicked her shoes off, using a piece of paper as a fan and balancing either Jeanne or Margot on her lap. Aramis can never tell them apart. Only the color of their ribbons differ.

 

He hears splashing noises from the water and the cat hisses, pounces off his arms to the table. Cutlery clatters and the Queen startles before she finally realizes they have more company. She forgets to tell her son to be careful with the pebbles he's throwing in the stream.

 

“Aramis! What are you doing here? Is something the matter?”

 

“Not to my knowledge. I've some papers for you to sign and I supposed it was worth the trip. A surprise.”

 

The Queen's face absolutely lights up at his smile and the sound of his voice. She's stopped trying to hide her feelings when they are with their friends. Their family. She's married to Aramis after all, even though nobody else but those present that magical day can ever know about it. She cherishes the moments when they can act like husband and wife. She's missed him.

 

Her eyes close briefly at his lips on her forehead and his hand on her back. She hopes he wil stay with her until they can all go back to Paris together.

 

“We were having a picnic with strawberries we picked ourselves.”

 

“Did you?”

 

Aramis will forever be amazed by how enthusiastic she is about simple things in life. All of these things which were denied to her for many, lonely years and that not many monarchs would dare do. But his Queen has no fear of breaching decorum. She's finally free and it's empowering.

 

“Yes! Constance had to lend me a pair of shoes. They wouldn't let me go in the garden with mine.”

 

“And Elodie had to lend me one as well because we're not _that_ wealthy and once mine were muddy then I didn't have any to wear. But they're too big.”

 

Hence Constance's bare feet.

 

“Constance and Elodie are very generous. We've been having a fantastic time. Haven't we, darling?”

 

The Queen calls out to her son who raises his head, sees Aramis who has mysteriously appeared and he hurries to his side to greet him.

 

“I've a secret to tell you later, Aramis,” he whispers with authority.

 

“Is it about your horse?” Aramis whispers back.

 

“Yes!”

 

“Did you enjoy your new saddle?”

 

“The one with the fleur-de-lys? Yes, very much. Thank you. It goes with my pauldron!”

 

The one he's always proudly wearing on his shoulder and which makes Aramis' heart swell with pride. To see his boy so happy to be branded a Musketeer and to have an outfit almost similar to d'Artagnan's, even if _his_ pauldron is discarded on a chair for the time being. With his jacket.

 

“I shall show you!” the King decides suddenly. “D'Artagnan, come with me!”

 

“Yes, go be a Musketeer for once,” Aramis jokes, his friend so ready to obey his Majesty's order.

 

“Shut up,” he mutters nonetheless. “And take care of her. Don't drop her.”

 

“I'd never!”

 

d'Artagnen casts him a menacing look, knowing full well that Aramis can work wonders with babies but he's grown out of his fear of not being a good father very quickly.

 

Aramis then finds himself with a very awake baby bouncing in his arms. Studying his face with interest, babbling and making to grab his beard. Nothing new here. Marie-Césette begins to toddle after the King and the soldier but she swirls awkwardly once Constance has called her back. Padding to the blanket and the toys scattered on it.

 

“Is the secret that he rode his horse?” Aramis asks when the boy is out of sight.

 

“It is. I have to insist for him to unsaddle and eat or rest. He can be stubborn.”

 

“It reminds me of someone,” Constance cheekily says, making funny faces at her daughter.

 

Aramis grins, ecstatic that among them, _this_ secret isn't one. That the King is his son and everybody has accepted it. He sits down close to the Queen, d'Artagnan's daughter warm and squirming on his lap.

 

“Which is also why nothing catastrophic happened with the riding, did it? It's in his blood.”

 

“No, you were correct. He is like you. A talented horseman. I'm still worried.”

 

“As you should be. He's happy, though. What is it, sweetheart?”

 

Marie-Césette has been tugging on his sleeve, wanting his attention, interrupting the conversation.

 

“Papa. Look,” she explains, holding up the wooden duck Porthos carved the last time he visited. The girl has a collection.

 

“He'll be back soon,” Aramis promises. It's painful for him to think that his friend has been missing so much of his daughter growing up. She's almost two already. “It's beautiful.”

 

She agrees, nods, puts it in his hand then wanders back to her game.

 

“We all have one.”

 

The Queen shows the bird that is resting next to her plate. To her glass of wine. But she can't touch them because there's a sleeping baby girl in her arms and the faintest move could wake her up. Porthos' second daughter, her skin nearly the same shade as her father's and as she's resting against the Queen's dress, looking blissful, she looks so much like Aramis' brother. The nose and the lips and the black hair. A miniature of Porthos. Even the same eyes when they are open.

 

So many daughters and they will have such protective fathers. Uncles. Aunts. Anne looks after them as if they were her own. Lavish presents and clothes. A dotting godmother for the twins. A wonderful caretaker for little Renée. The persona of the Queen Regent slips off her shoulders when she's with the girls. To reveal a simple woman with so much love and attention for the world.

 

Aramis feasts on it. The sight of her sushing the fussing baby, soothing her head, letting tiny fingers wrap around one of hers. Renée is drooling on her gown and yet Anne doesn't mind. She's beyond herself and Aramis is with her now. Their son will be back soon. To terrify her yet d'Artagnan will be with him. Overprotective just like Aramis would be. And Aramis with a baby in his arms always tugs at the Queen's heart. As if she can't imagine that they're here. They've made it.

 

The war is over, Porthos is coming home. Still a General in her Army yet not returning to any front for many years. Or so she hopes. The country is somewhat secure and Anne is so thankful.

 

To have Constance by her side, not batting an eye when Aramis looks quickly around them and kisses Anne on the cheek. On the lips. She sinks in her chair with delight, wishes that Elodie won't come back too soon to relieve her of her daughter. Anne loves the weight, the smell, the warmth against her chest.

 

They should come to the country more often.

 


End file.
